


Maverick

by popfly



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-15 01:49:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2211180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popfly/pseuds/popfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyler calls Jamie his wingman. Jamie wants a promotion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maverick

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [my future sister wife](http://www.twitter.com/urrone) for the encouragement, [my forever girl](http://www.twitter.com/HockeyOrPorn) for the read through and seal of approval, and [my fave new beta](http://www.twitter.com/midnightbex) for being an all around rad gal and adding spaces where spaces were necessary, among other things.

“No,” Tyler says, trying to be gruff but too busy laughing to pull it off.

“Come on, it’ll be hilarious,” Jordie says, and Jamie looks pink and pleased between them, rolling a tumbler half full of whiskey in his hands.

“Don’t encourage him,” Tyler grouses, but he’s still laughing, and his eye roll is probably too fond to be effective when he aims it at Jamie’s smiling face.

“I know you’re not used to being introduced, hot shot,” Jamie drawls, that deep, dumb voice he uses when he’s trying to be funny, and seriously, hot shot?

“Hot shot? How old are you, grandpa?” Tyler reaches out and lays his palm flat on top of Jamie’s glass, stopping the motion before the grind of it on the table rubs his nerves raw. His fingertips curl down and brush the back of Jamie’s hand, pinky bumping over his knuckles. Jamie’s grinning, head lolled back against the wall, and he raises his eyebrows in challenge.

Tyler sighs. “Fine. Shove over, Benn.” He directs this at Jordie, who is nearly cackling as he slides out of the booth. Tyler shoves at Jamie’s shoulder and follows him, scooting along the leather until they’re all standing at the edge of the table.

The other guys are a mixture of disbelief and amusement, and Tyler’s pretty sure Brenden is pulling up the video camera on his phone. Tyler points a warning finger but Brenden is completely unintimidated, poking his screen with a flourish and aiming the lens directly at Tyler’s face.

“Who’s the poor, unsuspecting girl?” Jordie asks, reclaiming his spot in the booth and surveying the room.

“You’ll see,” Jamie says, and Tyler follows him towards the bar.

There’s a cluster of girls near the taps, jeans and high heels, low cut tops and clunky necklaces, hair curled around their faces. Jamie walks right up to them, pats one of the blondes on the shoulder, and Tyler braces himself as she turns around.

“Have you met Tyler?” Jamie asks, drawing out the “have” obnoxiously long. Then he bolts, leaving Tyler blushing and scratching the stubble on his cheek.

The girl is staring at him, her friends laughing behind their hands, but she shakes her head and smiles. “Does that usually work for you?” she asks, and sips her drink, lips curling around her straw.

He can’t believe she isn’t brushing him off, but he slouches closer, edging in next to her as she turns her back on her friends. He offers to buy her another drink since hers in nearly gone and as she rattles off her order to the bartender Tyler glances over at the booth to gloat.

Jamie is frowning, the sore loser, so Tyler rubs it in with a dopey thumbs up.

⇠⇢

“Are you trying to win some bad wingman competition or something?” Tyler rubs the lip of his beer bottle with his fingertips, and Jamie just keeps grinning at him.

“Please, like anyone could beat Dills,” Jordie chirps, and the table bounces when Brenden lashes out with his foot and connects with a pole instead of Jordie’s legs.

“You got a girl out of it, didn’t you?” Brenden says, leaning down to rub his foot.

“On my own merit,” Jordie says, and the rest of the table devolves into an argument about whether or not Jordie has his own merits, while Tyler and Jamie have a weird standoff, or sit off, Tyler supposes. Whatever. They’re staring at each other, a dare clear in Jamie’s eyes. Tyler gives in, throwing up a hand.

“Someone needs to take the sitcoms away from you, seriously.” Tyler narrows his eyes at Jamie, an empty threat they both recognize. Tyler loves watching Jamie watch shit like Big Bang Theory and How I Met Your Mother, the way his laughter always seems like it sneaks up on him and bursts out.

Jamie gets a hand on Tyler’s shoulder, still grinning away, to push himself out of his chair. He runs his hand through his hair, scraping it back until the short bits over his ears show, newly shaved and close to his skin. Tyler can feel a blush already starting in his cheeks, and Jamie’s ears are a little pink, too.

Jamie heads straight for a table full of girls, just a few over from where Tyler sits, resigned to his fate. Jamie leans on the edge of the girls’ table and starts talking, too low for Tyler to hear, gesturing in his direction. All the girls look over, heads swiveling on their necks almost in unison, and it’s kind of creepy. Jamie is smirking at Tyler over their shoulders; Tyler waits until the girls turn their attention away from him to grimace.

Jamie is still talking, and then one of the girls says something that makes the smirk slip right off his face. Tyler goes to stand, one hand braced on the back of his chair and the other on the table. Jamie may be slaughtering Tyler’s good name right now, but you never leave a bro stranded. Thankfully, Jamie extricates himself, slouching back to the table with a frown.

“Ha,” Tyler says, when he’s back in earshot. “Next round is on you.”

“They asked me to send you over,” Jamie says, and Tyler blinks, then laughs.

“You are terrible at being terrible,” Tyler says, and leaves the guys to properly taunt Jamie while Tyler weaves through the crowd to meet his girls.

⇠⇢

“Seriously, dude, it’s not working.” Goose stretches his arms up over his head, back popping loud enough for Tyler to hear two seats over. They’d played hard that night, and Tyler feels wiped in a really pleasant way, warm from the beer and the closeness in the booth, eyelids heavy. He’s hoping the guys can talk Jamie out of whatever this thing has become, this competition or whatever, because Tyler is too tired to do it himself. He definitely doesn’t want to pick up tonight, doesn’t even want to talk to someone new that he doesn’t know.

“Tyler won every round,” Brenden chimes in, and Tyler glances over at Jamie, takes in the set of his shoulders and his mutinous frown. He shifts sideways the fraction of an inch it takes to press their thighs together, knocking Jamie’s knee with his own.

“Hey,” he says, and Jamie turns his head, looks at Tyler from the corner of his eye. He’s tense in a way that doesn’t mesh with their win and the way he’d been loose and laughing in the room after the game. Tyler presses against him harder to get more of his attention. “Let’s not do this tonight. I’ll buy you a beer anyway.”

Jamie’s turned fully towards him now, the guys quiet around them. Tyler grins, slides his beer bottle over to clink against Jamie’s. Jamie’s jaw is tight when he says, “But I’m your wingman. That’s what you told me.”

Tyler sighs. “I don’t want to pick up tonight,” he says, “I don’t want to talk to someone new, I just want to stay here in this booth and talk to you.” He’d meant to say “you guys” but the last word didn’t quite make it out, and either way Jamie is relaxing next to him, mouth curling up.

“Okay,” he says, and turns back to the table, leaning forward to catch Cody’s attention, and Tyler sags back in his seat, content. Brenden is looking at him a little weird, head tilted, but whatever. He just wants to spend a night with his boys, it’s not like that’s abnormal.

He and Jamie walk home, the night air warm and close around them, Jordie heading in the opposite direction towards his girlfriend’s place. It’s still early, the bars along the street spilling noise onto the sidewalk, and Tyler is happily cresting over buzzed into tipsy, smiling up at the streetlights.

“You look like a doofus,” Jamie says, bumping Tyler’s shoulder with his own. Tyler chuckles, the sound coming out garbled because of the way his head is tipped back, throat stretched tight. When he glances over Jamie is staring at his neck, and Tyler figures his Adam’s apple is probably doing something ridiculous, straining against his skin, and yeah, maybe he does look like a doofus. But still.

“Doofus?” He raises his eyebrows and Jamie looks away. “You’re 24, Jamie, not 74.”

Jamie huffs a laugh, still looking away. Tyler reaches out to knock his wrist against Jamie’s, smiling when he swings his head back and meets Tyler’s eyes.

“Thanks,” Tyler says, and he’s not even sure why he’s saying it, or what he’s thanking Jamie for, he just felt like saying it. Jamie smiles, so Tyler thinks it was the right thing, and they walk the last few blocks to their building in comfortable silence, arms brushing with every step.

⇠⇢

Jamie doesn’t challenge Tyler again, and the next few times they go out Tyler sticks to the team, reveling in the easy banter and the solid warmth of Jamie at his shoulder. He hasn’t had a team like this since Juniors, not really. The Bruins had been amazing, the guys had been great, and they’d hung out quite a bit, but it was always game related. It’s different now.

They have a few spots they frequent when they’re in town, post game, where they can take over a couple of booths and get loud without pissing anyone off. After a win things can get a little raucous, energy ramping up as they bounce off of each other.

Tyler’s waiting for Jamie to make a terrible pickup suggestion, because the last time had been a night like this, but Jamie doesn’t say a thing. He seems content to press his arm against Tyler’s as he and Jordie bicker, knocking his knuckles on Tyler’s thigh under the table when he wants Tyler to back him up on something.

Tyler shoves everyone out so he can go to the bathroom, promising to flag down their waitress and have her send over more beer, and when he gets back to the table everyone’s beer is full, but Jamie is frowning.

“What’s up,” Tyler asks, when Jamie stands to let Tyler back into the booth and is close enough that Tyler can wrap his fingers around Jamie’s wrist.

“I was just wondering if he was going to play his little game tonight,” Brenden says, and Tyler looks over, eyebrows pulling down, a sinking feeling in his stomach. “Been a while,” Brenden says, and shrugs.

“Maybe it’s over,” Tyler says, and slides into the booth, keeping a grip on Jamie’s arm to drag him down, too. “Jamie kept losing, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Brenden says, and he’s looking between them with that weird expression on his face. “He did.”

Jamie doesn’t perk back up after that, and Tyler feels restless next to him, getting grumpier by the second because he’d been enjoying the evening so much. Eventually he heaves a sigh, elbows Jamie in the side, and says, “Fine, go ahead.”

Jamie looks over, startled. Tyler crosses his arms and hitches his eyebrows up, feeling Brenden’s eyes on him from across the table. “I, what?” Jamie says, and Tyler purses his lips, frustrated.

“If you really want to play your dumb game, go ahead. But wingmen aren’t supposed to purposely be awful, you know.”

Jamie cuts his eyes away, maybe glancing at Brenden, Tyler doesn’t know. Irritation is flaring under his skin, heating his face. Jamie looks back, shakes his head.

“I don’t,” he says, and Tyler’s arms slip from his chest, relief washing through him.

It’s still awkward at the table, Tyler can feel Brenden watching him, and Jamie is tense at his side. He finishes his beer and presses his palm to Jamie’s biceps, pushing.

“Let me out,” Tyler says when Jamie turns to him, and ignores Jamie’s frown. “Gonna head home.” When he’s on his feet he digs out his wallet, fishes out some cash and drops it on the table.

“Wait for me,” Jamie says, but he’s got nearly a full drink on the table and Tyler doesn’t want to wait.

“Nah, man, finish up. See you guys later.” He bolts before Jamie can argue, ducking between groups and making for the door.

Marshall is waiting for him when he gets home, and Tyler gets the leash off its hook and clips it onto Marshall’s collar. It’s not late at all, and Tyler is too restless to sit and watch TV until he’s tired enough to fall asleep. It’s a nice night, warm and breezy, and a walk will be good for both of them.

Tyler crouches to scratch Marshall between the ears while the elevator crawls down towards the lobby, and he’s still babbling nonsense in his puppy voice when the doors slide open with a ding. Marshall gives a happy yip, and Tyler straightens up to see Jamie standing there, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Hey,” Tyler says, surprised. The restless, itchy feeling under his skin intensifies. Marshall bounds over the threshold to jump on Jamie, and Jamie lets him, smiling and patting whatever he can reach with Marshall wiggling happily around him.

“Marshall, down,” Tyler says, half-hearted at best. He secretly likes that Marshall gets so excited about people.

“It’s fine,” Jamie says, like he always does, because it’s no secret that Jamie loves how excited Marshall always is to see him. “Taking him out, or for a w-a-l-k?”

“Walk,” Tyler says, and Marshall gets even more worked up, snuffling and pushing his head against Tyler’s leg.

“Can I come?” Jamie asks.

Tyler wants to be alone, really, but Jamie’s presence isn’t exactly a burden. He can read Tyler pretty well, lets him stew when he needs to, doesn’t try to talk him out of it, and lets him ramble when he needs to work something out. And he looks hopeful, now, like maybe he needs the company. Tyler gestures toward the door and then follows when Jamie grins and starts walking.

They have a regular route, and Jamie’s been out with them enough to know it, so he turns right out of the building, Marshall at his heels. Tyler feels a little better after one block, and even better after three. Jamie is quiet next to him, hands still jammed in his pockets, his hair blowing around in the wind.

Tyler reaches over and tucks his fingers into the strands, getting a fistful of the ends where they flip up from being too long, and tugs. “Need a cut soon,” he says, grinning, and Jamie slants him a look. The moment seems to stretch, Jamie’s face serious and Tyler’s grin slipping off his face. He uncurls his fingers, lets his hand drop. 

He hadn’t noticed they’d stopped walking, but they have, and Marshall tugs on his leash a little, pulling Tyler forward a shuffling step. The moment snaps, and Jamie starts walking again, faster now so Tyler has to hustle to keep up.

The itch under his skin is back, and he’s tired of being quiet. “Jamie,” he says, and catches Jamie’s elbow to slow him down so they’re side by side again. “We okay?”

Jamie doesn’t look over or stop walking or say anything, and Tyler tightens his hand on Jamie’s arm.

“Hey,” he says, and plants his feet, making Jamie stop. “What’s going on?”

Jamie sighs, turns, rakes his hand through his hair. “Uh, you know the, uh, the game, or whatever. The competition?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t,” Jamie starts, and then sucks in his lower lip and bites at it before letting it puff back out. The itch under Tyler’s skin is getting worse, and sweat pricks up in the small of his back. “It’s not.” Jamie pulls in a breath and then blows it out.

Tyler waits, because Jamie doesn’t always know how to say what he wants to say, but he gets there eventually. Even though Tyler is feeling like he wants to run, the restlessness so bad his feet are shifting on the sidewalk, he wants to know what Jamie has to say.

He’s not expecting Jamie to say, “I don’t want to play, or whatever, anymore, because I hate watching you hook up with other people. I don’t want to be your wingman.”

The words seem to hang in the slightly humid air, and Tyler replays them in his head, fingers tightening on Marshall’s leash. The first part makes sense - it was kind of dumb anyway, testing out shitty pick up techniques from sitcoms to see if they work in real life - and the last part, kind of, too. But he gets a little stuck on the middle.

So Jamie - huh.

“Huh,” Tyler says out loud, and his voice is all croaky like when he first wakes up in the morning. Jamie flinches, grimacing, and Tyler holds out a hand, because he’s not, it’s not. Whatever is going on, Tyler doesn’t want Jamie to feel bad.

“It’s fine,” Jamie says, but it’s not, because he’s stepping back. “It’s dumb anyway. And I didn’t want to make anything weird, but obviously we are beyond that.”

“No, no,” Tyler says, brain still whirring. “Okay, yes, weird is right, but like, I think,” and he does, he thinks hard, and while he might not be able to figure out exactly what is happening right that second, he knows him and Jamie and they’re solid. More solid than Tyler had ever expected to be with someone like Jamie. That’s not going to change, no matter what.

“I think,” Tyler starts again, and reaches out to touch, because he’s a touchy guy. He pats at Jamie’s shoulder, then pulls back. “The weird isn’t permanent.”

Jamie’s not smiling, but he’s not grimacing like he’s just done a shot of shitty vodka anymore, so Tyler counts it as a win.

They don’t say anything else, standing still on the sidewalk while Marshall sniffs around their shoes. And then Jamie nods once, decisively, and continues on down the street.

⇠⇢

Jamie had said _other_. The only explanation Tyler can come up with for that word choice is that Jamie wants him. Like, sexually.

_So you want to hook up with me?_

Tyler is laying awake post walk and totally unable to sleep until he figures things out. It’s cowardly, he knows, but texting is easier than trying to work this out face to face. Marshall is knocked out on the other side of the bed, head on a pillow like he’s a human. Tyler tries to picture Jamie there instead, how he’d look sleeping, or just waking up, or …

His phone buzzes before he can get further, and the text says _no_. Tyler reads it twice, and his stomach sinks. Good thing he hadn’t thought about what Jamie would be like, because apparently he’d misunderstood the entire situation.

And apparently he is disappointed by this.

His phone buzzes again.

_Dont want to just hookup._

Oh.

Tyler locks the screen, spins the phone in his fingers. Then he swipes it back on, jabs at the call button.

Jamie answers on the first ring, says a quiet, “hey,” and then goes silent.

“So,” Tyler says, and he’s not sure what he wants to say, or why he’d forsaken his solid texting-is-easier philosophy. The itch is back, and the restlessness, and he’s really fucking confused. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Jamie says, and he sounds sorry. And that’s just, it’s so wrong.

“Don’t apologize.” Tyler flips onto his side, tucking his phone between his ear and the pillow, and looks over at Marshall. “You know how Marshall sleeps on a pillow like a person?”

Jamie laughs a short, quiet laugh, and hums. Tyler’s sent him numerous pictures of Marshall doing just that. Tyler thinks about that, how he doesn’t send those pictures to his sisters, or his mom, or his buddies back home. Thinks about how much he shares with Jamie that he doesn’t care to share with anyone else.

“I was picturing you there, before you texted.”

There’s silence at the other end, but it doesn’t feel like the kind that Tyler has to scramble to fill. He just breathes, and keeps thinking, and closes his eyes to let himself picture it. How Jamie would look in his bed, flushed and sweaty with his hair hanging in his face, covering Tyler’s body with his own. Tyler thinks about kissing him, about the way his lips look when he’s been biting them during interviews, about how they’d look if Tyler was biting them. It’s a good thought, they’re all good thoughts.

Tyler wonders what the rest of it would be like, the _not just hooking up_ part. If they’d hold hands, if Jamie would put his arm around Tyler’s shoulders while they were on the couch watching TV, if Jamie would call him babe like Tyler’s always called his girlfriends. Tyler’s hooked up with guys before, super casual road handjobs because they had a curfew and couldn’t bring anyone back with them, but he’s never tried to date one.

“Are you picturing it now?” Jamie asks, breaking into Tyler’s thoughts. It’s - it’s really fucking sexy, the way he sounds hesitant like he wasn’t sure he should say that, but also a little bold, like he doesn’t care if he should or not. It’s so typically Jamie that Tyler’s heart clenches, a rush of affection going through him that is so strong he’s almost breathless with it.

“I am, actually,” Tyler says, and Jamie makes a surprised noise, which makes Tyler smile so hard his face feels like it’s going to crack. “So just to clear things up, when you say you don’t want to just hook up with me, you’re talking about, like, dating?”

“Not _like_ dating,” Jamie says, and there’s a teasing lilt to his voice now that makes Tyler go warm all over. “Actually dating.”

“Like holding hands and calling each other pet names and the whole deal?”

“Oh god, what kind of horrible things are you going to call me?”

Tyler laughs. “Anything I come up with will be 100% better than Chubbs.”

“Yeah, well,” Jamie says, the smile evident in his voice. “I can’t really argue with that.”

They’re quiet again, and Tyler doesn’t know where they go from here. Tyler was always an act first, think later kind of guy, but he’s been trying to be better. More thoughtful. They probably need a little time, to sleep at the very least, and maybe talk about this thing face to face.

“I’m going to go to bed,” Tyler says, and his eyes are already slipping closed.

“Yeah, good idea.”

“But we’ll talk tomorrow?” Tyler yawns, and Jamie laughs at the other end, soft and fond.

“Of course we will. Doofus.”

Tyler smiles, eyes closed and cheek pressed to his phone. “Night, gramps.”

⇠⇢

They don’t talk. Or at least not right away. Tyler texts Jamie in the morning and tells him to come over once he’s caffeinated, and when he swings the door open to see Jamie shower-damp and wearing his favorite basketball shorts, he can’t help grabbing him and kissing him.

Their lips touch for a fraction of a second before Jamie pulls back, color in his cheeks already, and says, “We’re going to talk. We need to talk.”

“Absolutely we do. But first we need to make out for a while.”

Jamie doesn’t argue anymore.

It’s so good, even though Jamie gets Tyler pressed back against the wall next to the door and the door jamb is digging into his shoulder blade, and Marshall is jumping up on them in his excitement over Jamie. Jamie’s mouth is plush, lips soft and tongue hot when it slides against Tyler’s, and it’s so much better than Tyler could have ever imagined it.

He’s feeling pretty okay with not talking and just making out, especially when he shifts and he can feel Jamie’s dick against his hip, hard and thick. Tyler groans, rubbing up against it, and Jamie starts pulling away.

“Aw, come on,” Tyler says, when Jamie breaks them apart. He has his hands curled over Tyler’s shoulders, pushing him gently back.

“Talking,” Jamie says, firm despite the roughness in his voice, and Tyler wants to whine, and pout, and get his tongue back in Jamie’s mouth. But again, he’s trying to be better. So he steps away and nods, and turns towards the couch.

“This is the kind of conversation that goes well with a beer or a shot of Jäger,” Tyler says, flopping down into a corner and drawing up one knee. 

The seam of his sweats is pressing tight against his hard-on, and he knows he’s putting on a bit of a show. He’s going along with the talking thing, doesn’t mean he can’t show Jamie what he’s missing. What he can get. What he will be getting, hopefully. Tyler’s bravado flags a little at that, a hot flare of anticipation bursting up his spine. His fingertips are tingling. He’s so into this already, and they’ve barely touched. He can’t imagine what’s going to happen when they get in bed. Or when he gets Jamie laid out on the couch. He’s going to peel his shorts off with his teeth.

“Jesus,” Jamie says, tucked deep into the other corner of the couch. Marshall climbs up between them, settling down with a happy whumpf. “No one should look like that when they’re talking about Jäger. Especially not at 9:30 in the morning.”

“Not thinking about Jäger,” Tyler says, and watches Jamie swallow hard.

“Talking,” he says, for what feels like the fortieth time, and Tyler sighs.

“You want to date me. Turns out I’m totally into that idea. Also I want to fuck you so badly my teeth are aching right now. Was there something else you wanted me to say?”

Jamie goes so brilliantly, immediately red that it would be hilarious if it wasn’t so hot. He looks at Tyler, bottom lip between his teeth, and then down at Marshall, and then back up to Tyler. “Uh, no, I guess that’s good?”

“Don’t climb over my dog to get to me, dude, just get up and go to my bedroom. We’ll shut him out.”

Tyler can’t help grinning while Jamie gapes at him for a second before snapping his mouth shut and getting up. The look he throws over his shoulder is scorching, nothing Tyler ever thought he’d see on Jamie’s face, and Tyler scrambles to follow him. Marshall only looks a little sad when the door closes, and Tyler can’t bring himself to care when he turns around and sees Jamie standing at the foot of his bed, flush disappearing under the neckline of his vee neck tee.

“I don’t want to date anyone else, either,” he blurts, and Tyler blinks. Exclusivity is not his strong suit, but he knows how Jamie is. He’s probably the only professional athlete that has such strong opinions on monogamy. Tyler is more fluid, in basically every sense, but the idea isn’t as jarring as it has been in the past. He’s willing to try, he thinks, for Jamie.

“I’ve never been great at that,” he says, full disclosure. He doesn’t want Jamie to start something he’ll regret. “But I’ll try.”

“And you’ll be honest otherwise?”

“Of course.” That Tyler can do. He’s never been good at lying anyway, especially to Jamie. Jamie grins, a slow curl of his mouth that makes Tyler shiver, and gives Tyler an obvious once over.

“How you doin’?” he asks, and Tyler bursts out laughing.

“Ugh, I can’t believe that shit works,” Tyler says, but he’s still laughing when he prowls forward and shoves Jamie back onto the bed.

↞↞↠↠


End file.
